Hostel-ities

I guess I just wasn't thinking.
When the morning arrived for me and some of my classmates to leave for a short vacation in London, I still hadn't packed.  Maybe I was hoping that my bag would just pack itself, or Marion, our cleaning lady, would be feeling generous and do it for me. No such luck.
Fifteen minutes before departing, I hastily grabbed odds and ends of (hopefully) clean clothes from my closet, thrust them into my backpack, and hopped on the first train for London.
Only until we arrived at our hostel did I realize my mistake.
Early into our trip, I had purchased one of my best finds yet--fabulous footie pajamas at a local department store, on sale. The kind that little kids wear, with a zipper up the front and airplanes all over the fabric. Oh yes. When you're tall like me, finding gems like these (that fit) are hard to come by.
Why were these pajamas so wonderful, you ask? I have no idea. But I just love em.
The hostel where we're staying is co-ed. Our Scotland hostel had a reservation for our 4 girls, but this time, there were no reservations. No big deal, right?
But when nighttime came, I realized I would be rooming for the first time with several other guys in the room, from different parts of the world. Not that I would be drawing attention, of course.
Not in these spiffy footie pajamas with blue and white designs--no sir.
Most of the people in the hostels are young and very easy-going world travelers, but I was still mortified when I stepped out of the changing room donning my ensemble. This isn't happening. . . 
I sped down the hall, ignoring the grins of onlookers, and quickly let myself into my room.
An Australian looked up from his book, saw my footie pajamas. I felt my face turning several different shades of pink, which only added to my overall swag. All I needed was a blankie and a teddy bear at this point. The Aussie tried to hide his smile.
"It's okay," I said, slowly dying inside. "You can laugh." 
Yeah, I definitely just wasn't thinking. Cambridge is a brilliant school, but not all knowledge is (obviously) taught. . . 
Sweet dreams, and
Cheerio.